


you're confection, goodness knows (my honeysuckle rose)

by breedlejuice



Category: Haikyuu!!
Genre: Alternate Universe - Flower Shop, Confessions, Fluff, Fluff and Humor, Getting to Know Each Other, Komori sweetie I am so sorry, Language of Flowers, M/M, Miya Atsumu Being an Idiot, Mutual Pining, Sakusa is fond, Tooth-Rotting Fluff, rated teen for cursing, they are in love your honor
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2021-02-28
Updated: 2021-02-28
Packaged: 2021-03-19 09:34:00
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,604
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/29748495
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/breedlejuice/pseuds/breedlejuice
Summary: “Do ya make custom bouquets here?”“I do, yes. What in particular are you looking for? Any specific flowers?”The stranger brightens at this, leaning forward. “Look, I’ll be blunt with ya.. I don’t knownothin’‘bout flowers, so I was hopin’ ya could pick whatever works best? I need thameanestbouquet ya can sell ta me.”This isnotwhat Sakusa had been expecting, in the slightest.There is a long pause before Sakusa speaks again.“I’m sorry… but did you just ask me for a ‘mean’ bouquet of flowers?”
Relationships: Miya Atsumu/Sakusa Kiyoomi
Comments: 24
Kudos: 338





	you're confection, goodness knows (my honeysuckle rose)

Sakusa has always liked little things. He likes his flower shop atop the hill on Clementine Avenue, with its terracotta pathway and early morning light. Sakusa gardens at dawn, picking flowers from the bushes out back. He likes when sprouts break through the Earth and reach _up, up, up,_ drinking sunshine and dewy drops of water. What he likes the best though is bright and bold petals, shades of lilac and orange and green. 

Arranging flowers is his safe haven. It is precise and intricate, the art of winding ribbons and bows around neatly clipped stems. It keeps him busy and happy enough, running this small, quiet life. Sakusa has never been a man of many words. He’s always had little to say but much to fill his time, like cups of tea, watering cans, and starry eyed customers in love. The same kind of customers come by each day, always someone new but all of them carrying similar tales. This stormy Monday brings in a mixed bag of folks. Sakusa is visited by an elderly man named Jiro, bright and early around eight. He buys a dozen red roses for his wife before heading out the door, whistling a tune all the while. A shy, petite woman named Yuki drops in around noon, snagging daffodils for her girlfriend, Chiyo. She talks as he nestles the flowers into a home of pretty paper and golden string. Their grateful, subdued smiles are worth pricking his fingers on thorns. 

Sakusa’s little life is quiet but he’s used to it. He’s used to going home alone, spending weekends in the shade while reading books about a love he doesn’t have. He’s used to customers always coming but never staying, leaving their dreamy stories with him before drifting back outside. 

So, imagine Sakusa’s surprise when a loud, boisterous voice breaks through his shop and travels up to his counter. As it turns out, this disturbance is caused by a tall blonde man with honeycomb eyes. He’s wearing a sharp, blue tailored suit, wrist watch shining underneath the fluorescents. Sakusa assumes he must be coming straight from work, if his attire is any indication. The man is, admittedly, quite handsome- handsome enough to make Sakusa stop and stare for a while. He doesn’t notice Sakusa, of course. He’s too busy shouting profanities into his cell phone, something along the lines of _‘I don’t have fuckin’ time fer that, ya scrub!’_

Sakusa smirks behind his mask, small but amused. He expects the usual, naturally. Perhaps he’s a busy young man, trying to woo his lover off the clock. Or, perhaps he’s here to grab some flowers for his mother. Sakusa has seen mostly every kind of customer before. But when the man opens his mouth, all speculation falls to the wayside.

The heated phone call ends abruptly. “Stupid fuckin’ ‘Samu, tha bastard’s never any help when ya need him tha most.” The stranger grumbles, haphazardly shoving his phone into a pocket of his pants. Sakusa blinks at him from the opposite end of the counter, eyebrows furrowing. 

Sakusa clears his throat. “Sir—” he tries.

Yet, the suit clad man rambles on, slapping at his other pocket as he searches for something, presumably his wallet. “Who does that bald-headed bastard think he is, firin’ me like that?! I was tha best damn intern he had in tha whole offi—”

_“Sir._ Excuse me. _”_ Sakusa bites, finally interrupting the angry muttering. The strangers head shoots up, a peony pink flushing his cheeks. He at least has the decency to look embarrassed, scratching at the back of his neck. 

“Sorry ‘bout that, I didn’t see ya standin’ there.” 

Sakusa sighs. Typical. “Oh, really? What a surprise.” He retorts sarcastically, unamused. 

The stranger chuckles awkwardly, shuffling in place. “Brotherhood, amirite? Sometimes ya love ‘em, sometimes ya hate ‘em. All depends on tha day, ya know?”

Sakusa nods politely, adjusting his mask. “Sure. I’ve never been close with my siblings but I can see how that would be a problem. Anyways, now that I have your attention, what can I do for you?” 

“Do ya make custom bouquets here?”

“I do, yes. What in particular are you looking for? Any specific flowers?” 

The stranger brightens at this, leaning forward. “Look, I’ll be blunt with ya.. I don’t know _nothin’_ ‘bout flowers, so I was hopin’ ya could pick whatever works best? I need tha _meanest_ bouquet ya can sell ta me.”

This is _not_ what Sakusa had been expecting, in the slightest. 

There is a long pause before Sakusa speaks again. 

“I’m sorry… but did you just ask me for a _‘mean’_ bouquet of flowers?”

The man nods, unflinching. “That’s right. As rude as ya can make it.”

Sakusa pinches the bridge of his nose. “I.. okay. You do realize that this is a bouquet of _flowers_ that you’re purchasing, correct?”

“Yep.” 

“Flowers as in… _flowers_. Pretty colors. Petals.”

The man sucks his teeth, golden brown eyes narrowing. “ _Yes!_ I know what flowers are, ya don’t hafta reiterate it so many times. M’not stupid or nothin.’” 

_‘That’s debatable,’_ Sakusa thinks to himself.

“Okay. So, if you know what flowers are… then why are you asking me to make you a ‘mean’ bouquet? They’re… flowers. Not very threatening, if you ask me.”

The blonde flops onto a wooden stool by the counter, resting his chin in both of his hands. 

“I dunno. Flowers have different meanin’s and all that stuff, right?” 

Sakusa nods. “Yes. Floriography, that is correct.” 

“Soooo, do ya have any flowers that could say _‘ya fuckin’ suck’_ ta a person?” 

Sakusa doesn’t mean to laugh. He is supposed to be poised and professional, accommodating to all of his customers' floral requests. There is just something profoundly amusing about the sunny haired stranger in front of him, who is effortlessly blunt with his words and- for whatever reason- keenly determined to craft an “angry” bouquet. It is outlandish. It is also charming. 

The stranger bristles at Sakusa’s tiny but audible chuckles. “Tha heck are ya laughin’ fer!? Look, I’m just tryna make this ‘yer a twat’ bouquet by tha end of today. Do ya want my business or not?” 

Sakusa clears his throat, straightening up. “My apologies. Yes, I will help you with your… interesting bouquet. I think I have the right flowers in mind.” 

The man’s shoulders untense at that, slowly but seemingly in relief. “Great. Thank ya.” As Sakusa reaches out to his shears, it is then that he truly studies the person sitting on his stool. He sure is handsome, but he doesn’t look happy. The man looks gloomy and grey, like the shriveling petals of a dying rose. Sakusa thinks back to the angry mutterings from minutes ago, connecting the dots inside of his head. He feels a tad bit guilty for his laughter. 

“Has it been a rough day?” he asks. 

The stranger nods at that, scrubbing a hand down his face. “Yeah. S’been a real shitshow, ta be honest with ya. But s’alright. It isn’t yer problem ta worry ‘bout, I’ll be alright.” 

Sakusa glances out the front window of his shop, sees the raindrops swaying with their rhythm and dance. He swallows, tucking a stray curl behind his ear as he turns back to him. 

“It’s still pouring out there. The bouquet won’t be done for at least 2 hours. So, you are welcome to leave and come back, or… you could talk about it, if you want.”

His eyes flash with something undefinable, widening a fraction before settling once more. They watch each other for a moment, careful but curious. Sakusa wonders if he imagines the bright, camellia pink settling into those sun-kissed cheeks. 

( _He hopes he isn’t fooling himself._ ) 

The stranger clears his throat, breaking his gaze with another scratch to the back of his neck. “Okay. That’s real nice of ya. Thank ya, um..”

“Sakusa Kiyoomi,” he provides as he heads to the fridge of flowers in the back, searching for the first pick for the bouquet. Yellow carnations, for disdain. “Your name?” 

“Miya. My first name is Atsumu.” 

The handsome stranger has a name now; Atsumu Miya. It rolls around in his mind a bit, leaving him feeling light. Sakusa hums in acknowledgment as he reaches for a bundle of orange lilies; they symbolize hatred. Finally, he grabs petunias, a flower symbolizing resentment and anger. They all seem suitable enough for this pissy, last minute floral arrangement. Sakusa huffs quietly, satisfied. “Okay, Miya. Well, I’m listening. You can talk while I work.” 

Atsumu nods behind him, shifting on the wooden stool. “Thanks. Well, I was fired today. Took me completely by surprise, ta be honest. My boss has always been a dick but today topped tha charts. I’m an intern- _was_ an intern. M’still in school fer my graduate degree but I wanted a job ta gain some experience n’all that crummy shit. Well, he asked me ta fire somebody n’I just… s’not my job, ya know? I was an intern gettin’ paid nothin’ ta clean up after all his shit all tha time, n’then he asks me ta fire some poor guy who didn’t even do nothin’ wrong, ya know? He’s been workin’ fer that company fer years. He asked fer _one_ measly vacation with his family n’it was gonna get him fired. It just rubbed me tha wrong way. So, I told him that I wasn’t gonna do that ta tha guy, n’he fuckin’ fired _me_ on tha spot instead!” Atsumu rants. Sakusa can see his hands moving around in the air as he talks, expressive and angry. 

Sakusa frowns, turning back to the fridge full of petals and stems. He finds himself reaching for more pretty petals. White stargazer lilies, for sympathy; white alstroemeria lilies, for strength and support; sunflowers, for optimism and beauty. His arms are full to the brim with flowers by the time he returns to his work station. Atsumu peers over at them curiously but doesn’t ask any questions. Sakusa is grateful for it, in a way. He pushes the extra flowers off to the side, cheeks glowing underneath his mask. He reaches for the first of the “angry” flowers, shears in hand. 

“He sounds unpleasant.” Sakusa adds once it gets quiet, clipping away at the stems of petunias. 

“Yeah, yer tellin’ me. He’s a fuckin’ _jerk_ , s’what he is.” Atsumu grumbles, fiddling with a loose string on the sleeve of his blazer. “Aw, shit. I just bought tha damn thing, why tha hell does it have a pull already?” He mumbles absentmindedly, thick eyebrows furrowing. Sakusa fumbles through a drawer, wordlessly leaning over to hand him a pair of black scissors. Atsumu blinks over at him for a moment, blank faced. Sakusa sighs, wiggling the scissors impatiently. 

“Take them to clip the thread. It’ll make it worse if you pull it like that.” He explains, turning back to his desk when Atsumu finally grabs them from his extended hand. 

“Oh. Right. Thanks, Omi.” he murmurs, letting out a small, pleased noise when the thread is successfully removed. 

Sakusa cocks up a brow at that. _“‘Omi?’”_

Atsumu smiles cheekily, those syrupy eyes twinkling with mirth. It makes the rain outside disappear. The sun is inside of the shop, radiating from his smile. Sakusa swallows thickly, yellow butterflies dancing behind his ribs. “Yeah! ‘Omi.’ I like ta give nicknames. They’re more… personal, ya know? N’Omi suits ya.”

_‘Personal.’_ It is one simple word, but it holds some feeling that isn’t so cut and cry. The implication does something to his insides, something that he ignores by returning his gaze to the flowers in front of him. Atsumu certainly hadn’t meant to imply anything; he is just a customer. Sakusa scratches his cheek, fumbling for a piece of red ribbon. 

“I’m assuming this bouquet is for him then?” He questions. 

“Yeah. I know s’probably silly ta give somebody a bouquet fer firin’ ya, but he won’t know tha meanin’ behind tha flowers or nothin’ like that. I figured it might make _me_ feel better ta drop ‘em off, ya know?”

Sakusa hums, _snip snip snipping_ away. “Mmhmm. I suppose that makes more sense, now that you’ve explained it. If it makes you feel better then that’s what matters most, I guess.” 

Atsumu shuffles closer, dragging the stool across the floor to bring it right up to the work station. Sakusa glares at him, though no heat is behind it. “Watch my floors. If you scrape them, _you’re_ cleaning them. I just had them waxed.” He warns. 

Atsumu laughs, resting his elbows on the edge of Sakusa’s counter. He points a finger to the yellow carnations. “Sure, sure. Those are pretty. What does that one mean?”

Sakusa replies without looking up. “Disdain.”

Atsumu hums. “N’tha orange ones?”

“Hatred.”

“Tha pinkish ones?” 

“Resentment. Anger, too.” 

He laughs at that, a chirpy sound. It is beautiful and makes Sakusa’s brain dizzy, swaying like leaves in the breeze. “That sounds ‘bout right fer how I’m feelin’ today. Tha bastard won’t know what hit him.” 

Sakusa chuckles along with him, his dark eyes crinkling at the corners. “No, I suppose he won’t. Not unless he’s familiar with floriography.” 

“So, how long have ya been doin’ this? Do ya work with anyone else?” Atsumu asks. 

The question is normal. He’s been asked it many times in many different ways, so he rattles off his regular old response. “I opened the shop when I was 21, right after I graduated college. My cousin Komori works for me. A few of his friends work here too, but it’s usually just me and him. His friends only work the weekends.” 

Atsumu plays with one of the leaves that Sakusa previously snipped away. “How old are ya now then?”

“I’m 24. You?” 

His smile widens, all handsome and daffodil bright. “25! We’re not too far apart in age. So, what’s yer favorite flower then? Do ya have one? N’why is it yer favorite?” 

Unlike Atsumu’s previous words, this question is not so normal. It is not _abnormal_ in its content, per say. It is a fairly regular question. Yet, something about it makes Sakusa’s eyes widen. Because Atsumu chats at him with curiosity, eyes wide and attentive like he _cares_. Sakusa isn’t used to being asked about what he likes. It is new and different, much like the way he’s making a bouquet of flowers that isn’t for love. It is welcome though, all of this delicate beginning. 

“Lotus flowers.” Sakusa murmurs, a small smile twitching underneath his mask at the thought of those special petals and their deep, rich strength. 

“Yeah? Why s’that?” 

Sakusa thinks back to dark, dreary days, when his head was cloudy and everything was painted grey. He thinks of the lotus flower tattoo nestled on his hip, about all of the peace it has brought him. Lotus flowers are made of strength and perseverance, their seeds surviving thousands of years without water. It gets Sakusa through lonely days and nights, waking him up in the morning when he needs a push to stand. He says none of this though, the words dancing idly by in his head. He keeps it vague. 

“They’re a symbol of strength. The way that they grow is interesting, too. They can grow in mud and still come out clean. I’ve always been fond of that sentiment, I guess.” He murmurs, flicking a leaf to the side of the table. 

Atsumu hums, his eyes thoughtful. “That’s beautiful. I always thought flowers were kinda dumb but tha way ya describe ‘em s’real poetic, ya know? Makes me change my mind a bit!” 

Sakusa frowns, bristling. “Flowers are _not_ stupid.” 

The blonde laughs. “Yeah, yeah, no need ta look so defensive ‘bout it. I can tell just by yer eyes. Besides, ya might be changin’ my mind on it, I already told ya.” Atsumu’s eyes travel to the end of the work table, and he points his finger at a bundle of sunflowers. “Whatcha plannin’ on doin’ with those ones? Sunflowers didn’t strike me as nothin’ hateful.” 

Sakusa huffs, flushing up to his ears with embarrassment. He’s certainly a curious one. “That’s because they aren’t.”

“So, whadda they stand fer then?”

Sakusa freezes. _‘Beauty.’ Optimism.’ ‘Something bright that looks like you.’_

“Beauty. Optimism.” He leaves out the last part of his previous thought. 

“Are those fer another order then?”

_‘No.’_ “Mmhmm.” 

It is quiet again after that, the two of them merely existing within the same space. Atsumu watches his hands with an expression of intrigue as his fingers wind around stems and reposition petals. It is comfortable and warm, like the same springtime sun that pulls blooms from the dirt. 

“Yer good at that. Ya make ‘em all look so pretty together.” Atsumu murmurs suddenly. 

Sakusa keens underneath the weight of the compliment. It is off-handed to Atsumu but it _matters_ to Sakusa, having his passion recognized. 

“Thanks. It’s nothing really but I like doing it. It’s… methodical, somehow. I like when things are orderly and when they go together. Finding what looks good and what meanings match is almost like a puzzle, I suppose. They’re pretty too, the flowers. I’ve always been fond of them.” He says, cutting himself off. “Sorry, I’m rambling.” 

Atsumu shakes his head, leaning in closer. “Nah. S’nice. Ya have a real nice voice, Omi. S’soothin’. What else do ya like? Keep talkin.’” 

Sakusa’s mind rings. So, he talks. Both of them do, about their passions and hobbies and the seasons. Atsumu likes summer and Sakusa favors spring. Atsumu is a marketing graduate student but his dream is to be a painter; he went to school to appease his parents. Sakusa was a botany and business double major; he’d opened his shop straight out of university. Atsumu’s brother owns an onigiri shop down the road. They’re twins but Atsumu _insists_ he’s the “better” one. Somehow- secretly, of course- Sakusa _maybe_ believes him on the sentiment. Maybe its his lazy smile, or the liquid gold of his eyes that sways Sakusa’s opinion. 

The finished bouquets are tucked away in the fridge behind them, waiting while Atsumu and Sakusa chitter. It is easy, being here with him. Atsumu is endlessly attentive, loud with his words but quiet while he listens. He is sweet and funny and a little too pleasant, a little too above all of Sakusa’s small expectations. Before long, three hours pass, and the rain dwindles away. And then it has to end, like most things do. Sakusa is used to this part; the little beginnings and quick endings. After all, customers never do stay. 

Atsumu checks his wristwatch, eyes growing wide when he sees the time. “Shit! I didn’t realize how much time was passin’. I gotta get back ta tha office with tha bouquet. Gotta clean out my desk n’all that, too. I guess time really does fly when yer in good company, huh?” he says, that same slow smile spreading onto his lips. 

Sakusa smiles back at him, turning towards the fridge to grab not one but two bouquets of flowers. “Yeah. I guess so.” he murmurs, absently stroking the petals on a sunflower before turning back to Atsumu. 

The blonde looks puzzled, pointing towards the extra bouquet in Sakusa’s hands. “Uh. S’real pretty n’all, tha extra bouquet… but I only wanted one.” 

Sakusa nods. “I know. It’s- I made this one for you. The two different varieties of lilies symbolize strength and sympathy. We already went over what the sunflowers mean. Just take it. I thought you could use the encouragement.” He mumbles shyly, averting his gaze to the floor as the flowers are taken from his hands. When their fingertips brush, Sakusa is warm all over. It feels silly, the sparks of electricity that have no business being so strong. 

Atsumu glows before him, bright like a jar of fireflies in June. He is made of so much light, so much shine. “Thank ya so much. No one’s ever made me a bouquet or nothin’ like that before..” He mumbles, smiling down at the flowers. “Oh! Right, what do I owe ya fer tha other one then? S’almost too pretty ta give it away ta tha bastard. Ya would never guess that these flowers mean somethin’ so rude.” Atsumu chuckles, fishing his wallet from the pocket of his slacks. 

Sakusa shakes his head, inky curls bouncing with the movement. “Don’t worry about it.” 

There is a pause. “Are ya sure?? Omi, that was almost three hours of work that ya did.” 

Sakusa cocks up a brow. “Are you _asking_ for me to charge you, Miya?” 

Atsumu pouts, all petulant and small. It is far too cute to be allowed. “No. But I want ta repay ya somehow. Yer real kind fer all of this.” 

Sakusa sighs. He’s chatty _and_ persistent. It is too good. “No need for that. Tell your ex boss he’s an idiot as payment.” 

And when he laughs, it is sweeter than honeysuckle. “Alright, I’ll do that fer ya then. Well, I guess I should be goin’ now so that ya can close up, huh? It was real nice chattin’ with ya, Omi. So, I’ll see ya around?” Atsumu asks hopefully, lingering in the doorway of the shop. It makes him smile, secretive and a tiny bit sad. 

“The feeling is mutual. Drive safely, Atsumu.”

“Goodnight, Omi.”

Sakusa watches as Atsumu leaves, waving him goodbye before the blonde hops into his car, both bouquets nestled safely in the backseat. As he closes up the shop and waters his plants, fox eyes and charming smiles dance inside his head all the while. _‘So, I’ll see ya around?’_ The words echo inside of him, untouchable yet undeniably present. They follow him to dinner and to his bedroom, all glittering and hopeful. Still, Sakusa doesn’t trust them, nor does he cling to the sentiment that they harbor. Atsumu, like any other customer or person, is temporary; a stranger, no matter how good a conversationalist- _or how pretty._ Still, this makes the thought of never seeing that sunny stranger again no less upsetting. 

******* ****

Sakusa is used to goodbyes. He’s used to the hustle and bustle of owning a shop, his days all full of different people coming and going. His life is little and predictable; routine. So, when Atsumu returns to his shop a few days later, it feels like something bigger. It feels like something new is growing, right as those sunbeam eyes lock onto his own through the window. The shop has been dead all day, bustling with orders in the early morning before dying by noon. Komori brightens beside him, eyes growing wide as he flicks his gaze between Sakusa and Atsumu, who is walking from his car and towards the entrance. 

“Ooooo! Is that the boy you were talking about the other night?” Komori chirps.

Sakusa sighs, eyes never breaking from Atsumu’s own. “Yes, Komori. It is. So, go to the back room.” 

His words are ignored, of course. Komori rattles on, loud and embarrassing and someone who definitely cannot be let _anywhere_ near Atsumu at this given time. “He’s so _handsome_ ! And he has _roses!_ I wonder who those could be for, huh?” Komori teases, elbowing Sakusa in the ribs. Sakusa’s cheeks flush _pinkpinkpink_ before he’s shooting Komori a withering glance. 

“Komori. To the back. _Now._ ” He grits, shooing his cousin away with a frantic hand. 

Komori pouts before sliding off of the stool. “I’m going, I’m going. You’re _such_ a brat, I’m throwing your hydrangea seeds in the washing machine.” he threatens, disappearing around the corner.

“Yeah, love you too.” He calls blandly, right before Atsumu is waltzing through the doors. Sakusa is breathless as he spots the aforementioned roses in Atsumu’s hands; lavender, for enchantment. He wonders, shy and hopeful, if Atsumu also knows what they mean. The twinkle in his eyes alludes to the possibility as he stops in front of the counter, smiling from ear to ear. 

“Long time no see, Omi Omi!” he greets, loud as ever. It is the best sound Sakusa has heard all day. 

“Yeah, hey. You’re back.” 

“Well, no shit. I told ya I would be.” 

Sakusa scoffs at that, leaning his elbows onto the counter. “Yeah, you did. I guess I didn’t think you would actually come back, though.” 

Atsumu frowns, eyebrows furrowing.“Why wouldn’t I?”

_‘You are star-bright and handsome.’ ‘No one has ever stayed around for me.’_

He shrugs instead, an easy rise and fall of his shoulders. “I’m not sure. Anyways, did you give the bouquet to your boss?” 

Atsumu nods, flopping down onto the same stool as last time. It is nice seeing him there again, just as welcome here as the first day he came. “Sure did. He basically told me ta shove ‘em though, so I called him an asshole.” 

Sakusa laughs at that, the throaty sound filling the air and settling. Atsumu’s breath hitches audibly and then his cheeks are poppy red. It is then that Sakusa remembers his mask isn’t on, a wave of self-consciousness flowing up before crashing over him. Sakusa clears his throat, scratching at his cheek. 

“Right. Well, I’m sorry to hear th—” 

“Ya know, ya shouldn’t cover yer mouth like that. Yer real pretty when ya laugh.” 

The rest of Sakusa’s sentence dies in his throat. He hadn’t even noticed that he was doing so. “Really?” 

Atsumu nods eagerly, leaning a smidge closer to the counter. “Yeah. Ya have a real nice talkin’ voice n’pretty eyes, and now that I can see yer whole face… ya just look real good. Super good.” Atsumu rambles. Sakusa watches on in amusement, a fond but sly smile reaching his lips. 

“Yeah? You’re not too bad yourself. I suppose.” 

Atsumu pouts. “That’s rude! That’s all I get from ya?” 

Sakusa giggles. It is a small, syrupy sound, full of feeling. “Maybe I’ll tell you more if you tell me who those roses are for.” he murmurs, pointing a finger towards the flowers.

Atsumu blinks back at him for a moment before making a small _‘ah!’_ of recognition, thrusting the bouquet towards Sakusa’s hands. “Right, sorry. These are fer ya. I looked all over fer this variety fer the stupid meanin’ and lemme tell ya, it took _way_ too long ta find tha damn things.”

“And do you mean it?”

“Mean what?”

“That I have 'enchanted' you.”

Atsumu nods. “Well, I wouldn’t have bought ya tha roses if I wasn’t crazy ‘bout ya already. I didn’t stand a chance from tha moment ya started laughin’ ‘bout my bouquet idea.” 

Sakusa’s chest fills with roaring heat. The words are sweeter than any petals could ever be. 

He brings the roses to his nose, breathing in deep. They smell beautiful. They smell like a new beginning. 

“They’re very pretty, Atsumu. You are... admittedly charming. It's such a shame that you’re giving business to another shop though, Miya. That _definitely_ docks points off of your total score.” 

“Eh, well. I only did it ta ask out tha real pretty owner of _this_ shop. So, whaddaya say? Will ya let me take ya out?” Atsumu proposes, smiling all cheeky and hopeful. Sakusa is a goner. 

It feels like springtime and every warm, breezy afternoon that Sakusa has loved. It is nothing small but it still feels right, being with this wonderful someone new. Maybe he has room for one more in his safe haven life. Maybe he has room for cherry blossom cheeks and gentle hands, all soft and precious like a honeysuckle rose. 

“Of course I will.” 

It is time for new blooms.

  
  


**Author's Note:**

> Hi guys!! I hope that you enjoyed this short but fluffy piece. I love flowers and I love these two silly boys just as much, so this AU was destiny. Leave a comment if you'd like, and remember that you are loved and important all of the time : ) <3
> 
> Say hi on Tumblr and Twitter, if you wanna!! <3 [Tumblr](https://www.tumblr.com/blog/breedlejuice)
> 
> [Twitter](https://twitter.com/home)


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